


I don't believe in Angels

by edfingers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, did i mention that its like purely fluff?, satansim, very innocent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:46:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edfingers/pseuds/edfingers





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was unusually bright today, no clouds to be seen. How very ironic, Castiel thought.  
Castiel was staring down at his new crimson card, where it lie in his hand. It was light, and the golden letters stood faintly out from the rest.  
Church of Satan.  
He felt that tightening of his chest again, as he studied his own signature right under it.  
Castiel Novak.  
He sighed heavily. Other teenagers got cars, or scholarships or something normal for their eighteenth birthday. Castiel got his active membership card to the Church of Satan. A true statement that he was in fact ready to shoulder the more heavy responsibilities and live life true to the Satanic Bible. He would no longer be able to get away with the things he had been able to do before this day. Now some things would be expected of him. Things like aspiring to become a Warlock, or maybe even a Priest, like his own father.  
“This is a very special day, Castiel.” He heard his sister voice before he could actually see her. When she got into his view, she looked as villainous and scheming as ever, that crooked smile on her thin but blood red lips.  
“I know, Anna.” Castiel placed the card in one of the less visible inner pockets of his wallet.  
Anna sat down beside him on the park bench he had quietly retreated to after he had signed his card and gotten praise from the other members.  
“So, now you’re a full blown member.” She sat down, with her legs crossed over each other, her long red hair loose and gently blowing in the wind. Like a maroon waterfall over and around her small shoulders.  
Castiel did not answer her, because he had nothing to say. Anna knew he had been reluctant to do this even from the start. She knew he doubted, she had known that since the first time, many years ago when they were both children, she had heard him pray. Not once had she judge him, or told their father about his prayers and questions, but she did tease him relentlessly for it. 

It was Castiel’s final year in high school. Yes, he was a year older than most of the other students, but people had stopped caring after a while. It became hard to tease someone for being older, when that person kept their mouth shut about why they were a year late. Castiel had decided he would endure whatever teasing they could throw at him, he would never let slip that his father held him back a year, or as he called it “a simple gap year to learn more about the Satanic Scriptures”. No, that would not work well with the crowd at the school. 

John Winchester looked at his son, forefinger pressed hard against his lips as he studied him over. Dean sighed heavily. He was already late for his first class.  
“John, just let the kid go.” She reached her arms around her husband's waist, and hugged him from behind. “You want to make him late on his first day?” Mary Winchester was a kind and loving woman, who did not agree with John on everything, but she supported him and was the only one able to calm him down after a bender, or keep him from having his spurts of anger. Dean would be forever thankful for her.  
“Okay, okay.” John said, and took Mary’s smaller hands in his.  
“Does that mean I can go now?” Dean asked, impatiently. Dean, who was actually 17 and old enough to drive the Impala, was apparently not old enough to go somewhere with out his father’s approval. He had had to fight for the right to choose his own clothes for this day. John wanted Dean to wear something simple, something black.  
What John seemed to have a hard time understanding was that Dean did not like, or fit into, the whole goth-punk look. Sure, he could rock the occasional long black coat and black suit, but he enjoyed loose fitting shirts, henley’s and blue jeans more.  
And because he had won that particular fight with his father, that was exactly what he was wearing today.

Sam, his younger brother, was already waiting in the passenger seat of the Impala, his heavy and worn backpack resting in his lap. Sam, unlike Dean, was dressed accordingly to his father’s wishes. Black jeans, black work boots and a black t-shirt. Dean knew one thing though, that John had no idea about. Under the rim of his shirt, Sam wore a pentacle on a worn and raggedy old piece of string, which he associated with the Wiccan pagan-religion. Dean also knew that under Sam’s bed he had his own Book of Shadows, and late at night he wandered out into the forest behind their house, with a torn and old piece of paper with the Wiccan rede on it and did not come home for hours.

“You ready for tonight?” Sam asked as Dean sat down in the driver's seat and started up the Impala. The engine roared as it came to life, and he could feel the vibrations through the metal into his feet. He loved that feeling. Actually, he loved everything about their Impala, but mostly the fact that John trusted him enough to let him drive it.  
“Nope.” Dean simply said, and drove out of their driveway, choosing to ignore the question, leaving it hanging in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean did not really like this new school. The problem was not that is was a small school in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana. The problem was that this was the third school this year that he and Sam had to go to. Hopefully, this time it would last, and he would actually stay long enough to graduate. Because finally, his parents had found a town with a small circle of people that belonged to the same church as them - The Church Of Satan. Finding other people like them was hard, and John desperately wanted to belong to a community. Dean could not care less. He was not 18 yet, which meant he was only an honorary member in the eyes of the High Priest back in Hell’s Kitchen. Of course, John urged both of his sons to go with him to the meetings, both the formal ones, and the ones where the elders just met over coffee, but Dean really did not care for any of it. And he knew that Sam felt the same way.  
As he watched Sam walk away, backpack slung over his shoulder, he could not help but smile. His little brother was growing up so fast, he had grown too much just this year, and Dean should really sneak into his room at night and do something about that hair.  
Dean chuckled to himself and turned around to go to his own home classroom. 

Castiel was not looking up from his arms, which were holding multiple books stacked upon each other, the weight not properly distributed in his hold. Before he had the chance to look up, he felt his arms collide with the chest of another person, and he dropped his books on pure impulse.  
“Oh shit. Sorry, man.” The boy he had walked into said, and he was on his knees picking up Castiel’s book before Castiel even had a chance to do it himself. Instead, he just stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do. He thought about helping, but the blonde boy was done before he had the opportunity.   
“I did not see you, I’m sorry.” Castiel said weakly, and the other boy just smiled. It was an honest smile, Castiel could tell, because it reached his eyes and - his eyes. Castiel found himself staring into green pools of enchanted moss, sparkling and glittering as the sun hit them.   
“Uhm, dude. Your books?” The green eyed boy said whilst grinning, and Castiel shook himself back to reality, trying to shift his focus back.  
“Oh, sorry.” He took the books from him, and they felt even more heavy in his arms than before.” I get lost in my thoughts sometimes.”   
“No worries. It happens to me too.” The golden haired green eyed miracle before him smiled that genuine smile of his again, and the specks of lightly colored freckles danced across his cheeks. 

Just as he was turning to leave, like the awkward person he was, he heard the boy's voice again. It was rough, and had a slight graveling rasp to it. Not deep but any means, just very nuanced.  
“Hey, uh, what’s your name?”   
Castiel turned his head around, looking at him over his shoulder so he could just see the boy standing still behind him, his hands awkwardly trying to find their way into the pockets of his jeans, but missing over and over again.  
“It’s Castiel.” Now he turned his whole body around to face him. “What’s yours?” He asked, because that was the obvious polite thing to do. The boy shifted slightly, awkwardly grinning at him.  
“Dean. My name is Dean.” Dean was scratching at the scruff on his cheek, the scruff that was barely there and should really be shaven off.  
“Hello, Dean.” 

 

As Dean’s day progressed he could not drop the feeling that something was up with this Castiel figure. For the first thing, he looked like he belonged in a Marilyn Manson music video, with his dark hair that was styled into a pretty messy faux hawk. And the guy must have been wearing contacts because his eyes had been so blue, they could not be his real ones. The colour was almost like looking up at the clear summer sky from under water, the way the light breaks on the surface and creates an infinite number of blue undertones. Like pouring water into one of those rooms covered in mirrors from floor to ceiling.   
But not to mention the heavy obvious steel toe boots, the too big leather jacket and ripped up black jeans that showed skin along his thighs and right knee.   
Straight out of a Marilyn Manson video. 

English was the last class of the day, and he could not wait to get home and do - well, nothing. Probably listen to music, maybe read a little, try and do some of the homework given to him today. Since he had jumped in in the middle of the year, he had a lot of catching up to do in some classes. But truth be told, he did not really care about that. He would do what he wanted, and that was it. Not only was he slightly late, but as the door swung open, he was met with the fierce green eyes of a tall intimidating woman.  
“You must be Dean Winchester.” The English teacher stood , arms across her chest, impatiently tapping her left foot against the floor, her heels clicking. Those heels should be considered lethal, was all Dean could think as he stared at the red stilettos.  
“Yeah, I’m Dean.” He said, as he looked out over the classroom, but something caught his eyes. His eyes stopped at a dark haired young man sitting in the corner of the room, close to a huge window with a view over the school yard. It was Castiel, the guy from before. He felt a bit relieved that out of all of his classes, he had met and actually interacted with a person in at least one of them. 

Castiel heard the door open,but he did not really care to look. All he could feel was that card, burning in the inside of his wallet, like a tiny flame pressed against his thigh. He hated it, and he hated the way he wanted to open the window and throw it out.   
“Yeah, I’m Dean.”   
That voice. The green eyed miracle from before. Castiel tried not to spin his head around too quickly, but he had actually thought about Dean during the day, and secretly wished he would show up in one of his boring classes, and brighten up the room, like some kind of Disney movie he obviously did not live in.   
Yet there he stood, his hands in his front pockets, looking directly at Castiel. As their eyes met, Dean grinned and rocked a little back and forth on the heels of his feet.   
“You can sit beside Mr Novak.” The teacher said, because she must have noticed their short exchange of glances, Dean’s tiny little smile and Castiel’s attention focusing on Dean.   
Ms Abaddon was not the nicest of teachers, she was ruthless, but fair. She did not beat around the bush about things, and could easily come off as a bit bitchy even. Castiel had some weird adoration for her brutal honesty, but also a tiny bit of fear for her. Maybe she reminded him too much about his sister. Maybe she was just a really complicated person. He had a hard time with complicated people.   
Then it hit him. Dean was making his way towards him, and before he knew it, Dean was sitting down in the seat beside him.

“Hey, again Cas.” Dean whispered, as low as he could, because Abaddon had started talking about some part of Dante’s Divine Comedy, it might have been the third and final part about angels. It was all background noise to him right now.   
“Hello, Dean.” Castiel nervously shuffled his hands around on the table, fiddling with a pen, ripping a little at the corner of his notebook.   
“Why so shifty? You look like I’m about to do twenty extremely uncomfortable questions with you.” Dean leaned back in his chair, stretching his tired body, and he could hear his spine snap and his neck crackle. Not an unpleasant feeling, but sure as hell an unpleasant sound.   
“Are you?” Cas asked him, and he almost looked serious. Serious enough for Dean to become the shifty nervous one.   
“No, no of course not, Cas.” He responded, aimlessly scratching at the back of his nape, feeling the short hairs between his fingers. Cas was still looking at him. Was he wearing eyeliner? Yes, he was. Just faint line across his lower eyelid, smudged black that made his impossible eyes pop out even more.   
Cas just shrugged, and turned his attention towards Ms Abaddon again.  
Dean felt a slight knot in his stomach, why he did he had no idea. But it almost felt like bone breaking, the way Cas eyes snapped from his to the front of the classroom. Maybe he had just been afraid of being all alone in yet another school, or maybe this Cas person just intrigued him to much. Maybe he was making the same stupid mistake as before ; getting his hopes up too quickly.  
“Mr Winchester?” Her voice got him back to reality, back from staring at Cas’s profile, the way his lips curved, the way his eyes were still and almost unblinking, his sharp cheekbones and pointy chin, his flawless slightly tanned skin and was that stubble? He must have made sound, because the whole class turned around to look at him.  
“Yeah? I’m sorry, what?” He tried to act normal, but he heard his own voice go up a pitch, and it only took seconds for his cheeks to start burning.  
“Do you have any knowledge about angels?”  
Awkward. Super awkward.   
“I mean, outside fiction and stuff? No, not really.” Dean answered, and he could see the shock on the obviously religious kids, the one with crosses in silver chains around their necks, and that whole Jehovah Witness feel about them. Hopefully he had not offended too much. The truth was that he did not know much about angels at all, outside how they were described in literature. The Church of Satan taught that God, Satan, Heaven and Hell does not exist, and therefore neither does angels. It’s not like he could repeat the Bible - the Christian one - on the top of his head.   
“Well, then the question is : Do you believe in Angels, Mr Winchester?”   
He could feel Cas looking at him , his blue eyes piercing him, but not in a judgemental way. A quick glance in Cas’s direction made it clear that it was curiosity in his eyes, a faint glimmer behind smudge eyeliner. Dean thought back at all his teachings, how Angels were work of fiction, not unlike old legends, like Hook Man, or Bloody Mary. Faded ideas of glory and greatness, fierce with their swords and many faces. Cas was not looking at him anymore, his eyes gazing down at his chipped nails.  
“No, I guess I don’t.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Did you have fun at school?” Mary asked both her boys as they walked through the front door. She was dressed in a loose fitting white dress that flared around her hips, and her long blonde hair was up in a messy ponytail. She was the very picture of a loving mom, and the best thing to see after a long day in school.  
Sam just nodded, before he sat down at the kitchen table, books already out, taking up half the table itself. He had his notebook opened in two seconds and started doing whatever homework a thirteen year old could have. Maybe shapes or something. Dean on the other hand stood still,leaning against the frame of the door, backpack still hanging from his shoulder.   
He shrugged.  
“I’m 17. I don’t have fun in high school anymore.” He made point to make a nonchalant expression, but he could feel an actual smile crack up over his lips. It was something about the way his mother smiled at him, no matter how stupid or arrogant he acted towards her or anyone in the family. She would never judge him, and she had never judged him for anything.   
That time she found him nervously looking over the jewelry shelf in the mall, aimlessly touching the gleaming and graceful crosses, she had just smiled and said that it was okay to be curious, but please do not let John see this, and she had urged them to move on.   
Dean was almost certain that she knew about Sam’s necklace, his little secret around his neck, and chose not to care.

The sun was still up outside his window, and the small dust particles moved in the air where the light hit the walls and floor. It was utterly fascinating, Dean could not take his eyes away from it. Something so simple, such as the fact that his room was dusty enough to produce this little miracle was incredible to him.   
Like a little performance put on, just for him, because he had purposefully neglected his duties that included cleaning. Then through thin walls, he heard his father voice. This happened quite often, and he usually chose to ignore it, or put headphones on, but something compelled him to listen today. Maybe because he was pretty sure his parents were talking about the meeting later that same day, and he was probably just as nervous as his father.  
“You’ve talked to Priest Novak tons of times, dear.” His mother’s voice was gentle and kind.  
“Yes, but never in person.”   
Dean opened his door carefully, so that it would not creak or make any sound. Outside, in the long hallway his father was standing looking at himself in the full body mirror that hung on the wall further down the hall. Mary was leaning against the wall next to him, arms crossed over her chest, her hair now loose over her shoulders and framing her face.  
Priest Novak? Dean knew that name. He had been seated by a Mr Novak today. Or who was he kidding, of course he remembered that Mr Novak’s name was in fact Castiel. But they could possible not be related. But then again, with the whole punk-rock thing Cas had going on, maybe it should be obvious to him that the connection between the Priest and his classmate might not be so odd after all. Dean flattened himself against the wall next to his door, so that he could eavesdrop without being detected by his parents.  
“Don’t worry, John, it will be fine.” Mary gracefully moved over the wooden floor to stand beside her husband, her long and slender fingers gently stroking his bearded cheek as she joined him by the mirror. Dean only caught a quick peek, but what he saw was his burly and unruly father melting into the touch of his mother. In a simple gesture she had removed all fear and doubt from him. 

Sam was being grumpy in the backseat next to Dean, complaining how his suit was too big, that it was too hot, that he had homework (No, you don’t Sammy, we just started today) and that he wanted to go back. He was only thirteen why did he have to come along at all? John ignored his youngest son, as he usually did when Sam was being rowdy, which was becoming more of a common thing the closer the peak of puberty he was nearing.   
Dean watched his little brother fiddle with the tie and oversized jacket. It was Dean’s old suit. Not that old mind you. Only like 2 years. Which was sort of scary because Sam would probably only need another 6 months to grow into it fully.  
Mary turned on the cassette player, which was outdated by all means, but John refused to upgrade. As the music, some Led Zeppelin song, started playing, Sam leaned closer to his brother.   
“What are you doing?” Dean asked, arched eyebrows, questioning look. Sammy just urged him closer.  
“There’s a girl in my class.” Sam said, his eyes lighting up under that messy fringe of his. A girl, really? Dean thought, feeling slightly proud of his little brother, already scoping the field after just one day.  
“A girl? Is she hot?” Dean whispered, a teasing smile on his lips.   
“Shut up, Dean.” Sam playfully hit Dean on his bicep, and Dean , like the good older brother, acted hurt and made a whining noise as he grasped at the place where Sam had hit him.  
“What are you up too, back there?” John asked, looking at his sons in the rearview mirror.  
“Nothing!” The two brothers said at the same time. Sighing loudly, John decided to leave it at that. As soon as their fathers eyes were back on the road, Sam was right back to leaning towards Dean.  
“Her name is Jess.” 

Castiel did really not see the need for him to be at this meeting at all. If only this stupid family had arrived a couple weeks earlier, before he had gotten his full membership, he might have gotten out of this. But no such luck. So here he was standing, outside the tiny little townhouse with black bricks and black details, in a snug black suit. In an act of rebellion, he had put on a blue tie before leaving the house, covering it long enough to make it impossible for his father to turn back and make him change it to a black one. Not very surprisingly, his father did not like that move at all.  
“Castiel.” He had just said, but his voice had been dripping with venom and disapproval.  
From around the corner of the block, a heavy American car appeared. Cas could not place the model or make, but the silver chrome sure was pretty, if he had too say something.  
As the car came to a halt just in front of them, parking by the sidewalk, he could feel the hand of his father on his back, pressing against his spine to make him stand straighter, and as much as it pained him, he did. Then something felt familiar about the distorted figure behind the backseat window. Not the brown haired youngster with a sullen look on his face, no not him. As the car doors swung open, he was faced with the same pools of green as earlier that same day, and just like then, they made him freeze up, his body going tense. 

“Ah, Mr Winchester! Mrs Winchester! Welcome to our humble little gathering.” Cas father welcomed the two adults properly , shaking their hands eagerly, a paper thin smile on his face. Nothing about him seemed trustworthy to Cas, but Mr Winchester apparently thought so, as he took his fathers hand in his and shook it. The two older men started talking immediately, and Cas father soon directed them into the house for a cup of coffee, leaving the younger ones still standing at the curb.   
“Cas?” To his bewilderment, Dean did not sound the slightest surprised to see Cas here. Which felt odd, when he thought about his own reaction to Dean’s presence, tensing up like that. But Dean was all smiles toward him. The younger boy, who he guessed must be Dean’s little brother, was watching their exchange, a bit too much interest in his eyes.   
“Dean. I did not know your family were followers of the church.”   
Or, what was going through his mind , but he could not say ; You do not look like you fit in here at all.   
“Yeah, no they are.” Dean’s warm smile drained from his , dare Cas say ,plump lips, and he looked down at the asphalt, dragging the toe of his fancy shoe against some gravel and dirt.  
They are, he had said. Not we are.

The meeting was a mixture of things. Going over the regular stuff, like how many times they could meet, if they would be able to contribute to the Black Mass, if they wanted to join the book-club, had Dean and Cas’’s parents intrigued and very occupied, and Cas saw no real reason for him to still be there. So as his father was going to make more of that way too strong black coffee, Cas excused himself and walked out with some haste, before his father came back to stop him, and force him to stay. He dared not spend more than a few hours in the community building, because he always started to feel like he was choking, being deprived of air, as if the walls were closing in on the already tiny space, so when the doors swung open and the gentle breeze hit his face, a loud gasp slipped out of his throat. 

He hated the church. He hated these meetings, he hated that everything was fucking black. Not gray or navy blue - just black. He hated listening to his father ramble on about how welcoming the church was, and how open it was too new members, and their different activities - and oh, the fact that God does not exist, did the Winchester want a pamphlet about that?   
He looked down at his tie, still straight around his neck, down his torso. In a quick movement, one he knew by heart by now, he loosened it up, making the long tails twist around in a untidy way.The tie could be backwards for all he cared by this point.

He found his usual place, the bench he had been sitting on earlier that day with his sister, looking over his new card. Fortunately, the bench was cloaked in shadows at this time of day, and the old wood was cold against the palms of his hands.

“You doing alright, Cas?” Dean has expertly snuck up behind him, without making a sound, which must have been quite the feat for him, because Dean was not built like a ballerina who could move with grace and silence. More like a building, square and wide set, and legs slightly bowed.   
Wait, when had he taken notice of Dean’s legs?  
“Yes. I just needed some air.”   
“Mind if I sit down, buddy?”   
Cas nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean sat down on the far side of the bench, unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt, and just sort of collapsed against the back of the bench with a heavy exhale. Maybe he was just as tired of meetings like this too. Or maybe Cas father had sent him out to collect his disobedient son.   
But Dean never suggested going back in. He just looked over at Cas, and when his eyes caught the disregarded tie around his neck, a pleasant smile touched the corner of Dean’s eyes, the green acting almost like a source of gravity, a slight pull Cas could feel in the entirety of his body.   
Like he was the ocean, and Dean the moon.

“Your tie.” He heard Dean say with a chuckle, and he pointed lazily towards Cas. Looking down at his tie, he noticed that yes, it had in fact twisted around, and the front was now facing his chest. Just as he was about correct it, starting to loosen it enough to take it off, warm hands stopped him.   
“Nah, leave it.” It was Dean’s hand, his fingers, against the back of Cas’s, hindering him mid motion. “It looks kind of cool.” Dean was smiling at him.  
That smile was something else. It was genuine, but also slightly cocky. Maybe it was the way the upper lip curved along his cupid bow, or the slight dimple on his cheek, or the way every smile he caught Dean in always reached his eyes.

“Is it not ironic?” Cas said, desperate to change to subject, desperate to not be distracted by Dean’s face anymore.   
“What is?” Dean answered, confusion at the sudden shift of subject apparent in his voice. His rich, rough … Cas dropped that line of thought right there.   
“That church over there.” Cas pointed to the small, white building on the other side of the street. Maybe it shouldn’t be described as white anymore, maybe more a cream-like colour, like rotting milk. It was a tiny church, but with a huge crucifix on the center tower. Black and rusty against the rotting milk. Tall and narrow, but very standard glass windows along it’s sides. Not like you usually see, with colors and beautiful images. This church had gray glass windows, with steel bars protecting them.   
“It’s like God is judging our little brick house, don’t you think? With that huge crucifix looming out like that.”  
Dean’s body became rigid, like he was shocked by electricity, even his posture changed.  
“God?” He asked, his voice lower in volume, his eyes staring at the black crucifix across the street. “I thought we believed that God does not exist.” 

 

Cas knew he had made an error, he had slipped up, he had messed up.   
Yes, Dean had walked away from the meeting , and yes he did not have the typical look of satanist, but that did not mean he was not a devout member. That did not mean he would not forever look down on Cas for even mentioning that God might be a possibility.   
That crucifix suddenly became like an huge eye sore, and he had to look away before it grew too big before his eyes. But he could not look to his side, not at Dean, because they had only exchanged a few sentences, but he had already fucked up. And he was scared that Dean would not look back at him. 

“He doesn’t.” Cas said in such a quiet voice, Dean had to strain himself to even hear him over the faint breeze and sound of wind rustling leaves above them. His body released some of the tension that had built up, even though he had no clue what it came from. He just knew that Cas mentioning God had made something inside of him start to beat hard. Maybe it was his heart, against his ribs, or maybe it was all that awful coffee Priest Novak had made and he had been too polite to refuse. It was something.   
He glanced sideways at Cas, who was looking very fiercely at his fingers and his hands, that messy hawk falling slightly over his forehead and into his eyes.   
If Dean was good at something, it was reading people, and Cas screamed of doubt. His body language, his eyes, the shiftyness of his movements, even his voice when he had spoken before.  
Cas doubted his own words.   
Dean had no idea what to do with that information, but he was glad he knew about it now. Looking around them, mostly behind them ,back toward the brick house, he scanned after people who looked like they could belong to the church, or after their families. When he found none of the above, he inclined his upper torso towards Cas. Not sure he should even ask what he was thinking, because maybe it would backfire, he decided that he should at least try. Good decisions was never his thing anyway.

Cas eyes shot up, surprise in his -ironically- heavenly eyes, and when their eyes met, Dean felt that last bit of courage he needed to go with it.  
“You wanna find out?”  
“What?”  
“You wanna find out if God exists?”  
Cas let out a nervous chortle, and it sounded adorable. But Dean kept his eyes on Cas, trying to give him his most serious look, and it must have worked , because Cas leaned forward, closer to Dean, a interested look to his blue eyes.   
The distance between them now was not that large, and Dean was trying his best not to look anywhere but at Cas’s eyes. If he would even dare a tiny look down at Cas’s lips, he would surely regret it. But the tug and pull and want to do it was still there.   
“Are you serious?” Cas asked, whispering.   
“Yeah. I am. C’mon, they won’t be done for a couple of hours anyway.” 

Cas felt excited for whatever Dean had in mind when it came to proving God. Never mind that people have tried to do just that for centuries, he discarded that.   
“Okay, Dean. How are you going to do that?”   
Dean grinned, a mischievous look dawning on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

This was reckless by so many standards, and Cas had no idea why he was going along with this at all. As soon as he had asked how Dean was going to prove God, Dean had shot up from the bench. His shirt was disheveled and not entirely tucked into his shirt anymore, the buttons that he had unbuttoned earlier gave hint of golden colored flesh and the outline of collarbones. So when Dean offered his hand to Cas, he could do nothing but take it, and be dragged along after an over excited Dean Winchester. 

“You want to break into the church?” Cas whispered, and all of him wanted to turn around, go back to what he knew as safety, and just stop this foolishness.   
“We’re not breaking in, Cas! It’s a public space, and it’s mostly empty at this time of day.” Dean let go of Cas hand, which he notably had held during their entire walk, short as it may have been, to the church on the other side.  
“Considering what we are, it feels like we’re committing some kind of crime.” Cas said as he looked up to see the crucifix gawking at him. It looked crooked from this new point of it. Beside him he heard Dean’s warm laugh, closely followed by the creak of hinges as the heavy door opened. 

That was the first church Cas had ever been in. Well, the first one that was not the Church of Satan. And if the small town churches looked as grand as this one, he could not imagine what the Vatican would be like. Dean was quick to take of his dress jacket, placing it at the bench closest to the entrance, before moving forward with awe in his eyes as he looked around.  
It was not a big church, but the ceiling was impossibly high, and in the vaulted ceiling were a soft painting of a light blue sky, dotted with tiny little clouds. It was not a very pretty depiction of the sky, but right now it was the most beautiful thing Cas had ever seen.

Or at least he thought so, until he turned his gaze towards the eager and giddy Dean who was slowly walking closer and closer to the altar. The way he looked , walking down the aisle, his fingers gently dragging along the edges of each bench, the way the lighting hit him from the side, making him glow with a yellow radiance. How he looked surrounded by saints, looking as if they were kneeling around him as he moved, how they almost seemed to shift out of his way.That was the most beautiful thing Cas had ever seen.   
He could have looked up, and seen the complete scene of heaven displayed before him, but he chose to watch Dean. 

Dean had only been in a few churches before in his life, and this one was not very great to be honest. The floor dirty, the altar miniscule, and the paintings and deceptions of the saints were fading in colour, peeling of the stone walls. But the confessional in the corner looked fairly new, or at least polished and taken care off. As he reached the very front of the church, as far as he could go without feeling like he would offend, he sat down on the chilly floor, turned around to call Cas over to join him.

“Cas-” The boy was standing there, hands in his pockets, tie backwards, hair messy, blue eyes piercing from even this distance, and black suit and he was tilting his head slightly.   
But what stopped him mid track was the gigantic panting above him. He felt his breath hitch in his throat, and his jaw went slack.   
Behind him, at the space above the doors were the most intricate painting of an angel he had ever seen.   
And for a moment, it almost looked like Cas was spreading gigantic black wings from his back. 

 

“What is it Dean?” Cas asked, his voice echoing slightly against the hard walls, and he started walking towards where Dean was sitting alone.  
Gulping hard, but hopefully not loud enough for Cas to hear him, he tried to collect himself, but the image of Cas with fully formed wings was not something that was going to leave him anytime soon.  
Cas stopped beside one of the benches at the front row, and grabbed a Psalm book and a worn old tattered Bible from the seat. The Bible was torn at the pages and yellowed, and the brown leather had streaks of white and cracks all over it. The fact that it was still whole was a miracle on it’s own. 

“Nothing. Just sit down, and let’s see if God is real.” Dean said, but his voice seemed unsteady, and at one point Cas swore he heard it even break. Cas shrugged, but a smile tugged at his lips, and that was enough for Dean.  
As he sat down, he handed Dean the old Bible, and kept the Psalm book. He paid almost no mind to the gigantic angel on the wall, a sharp blade held high over it’s head, golden and dark robes flowing around its frame. 

“I’m here. Now prove it.” Cas said challenge, and nudged him in the shoulder in a very playful way. Dean looked down at the Bible in his hands, and thought about what he should say. A part of him had believed that it would all become clear as soon as he entered the church, that God would appear and tell him to have faith, or something. But nothing had happened. God had not made an appearance to him, no angels had descended with trumpets and the sky had not opened.  
Wait.

Cas watched Dean, as he almost caressed the front of the Bible with his fingers, tracing the letters with his index finger. His heart was beating hard inside his ribcage. Maybe it was the complete blasphemy he was committing in the eyes of his father, or maybe it was the fact that he could feel Dean’s hips against his own, and the warmth radiating from him, and the earthy smell that followed. It made it hard to concentrate. 

“Okay.. Just… Just follow my lead, okay?” Dean finally said. Then he clasped his hands together, and it took a while before Cas realized it was the typical gesture one made while praying. His eyes were even closed.  
“Are you there God? It’s me, Dean Winchester.”   
No response, only the silence of the empty church. It was almost eerie how silent it became, and Cas swore he could feel the temperature dropping.   
Opening one squinting eye, Dean looked around, hands still in prayer-formation. When he, just as Cas , saw that nothing changed, he closed it again.   
“Okay so here is the deal. I’m going to open a passage from the Bible, and if it’s y’know, good enough, I will take it as a sign that you exist.” Dean was now trying to suppress a smile, and Cas too was having a hard time taking this seriously.   
“You should be more formal with God! It’s not like he’s some dirty middle aged man in a bathrobe, dirty underwear and unkempt beard.”  
“You don’t know that!” Dean answered, and then immediately went for the Bible. He studied it carefully, tracing fingertips along the pages before deciding on a spot to open it.He opened it in a quick movement, and started to read what was on top of the page. 

“Well that is just stupid.” He muttered after a while.   
“What does it say?” Cas asked, and leaned over to look down at the page. In the process he had moved as close as he could possible be to Dean, his upper body pressed against Dean’s side.   
“It is stupid.” Dean simply said, and was just about to shut the Bible close, but Cas was quick enough to place his finger on the page. Before Dean could do anything about it, Cas snatched the book from his hands and started reading.   
Beside him, Dean rested his chin in the palm of his hand and muttered something about stupid things under his breath. Cas decided to read outloud.  
“Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders.”

Cas voice was deep and rich when he read it out loud, and even if Dean found his voice enticing in this setting, the words coming out of his mouth made him feel sick.  
“Well, shit.” Was all he could get out after a few moments of silence, because Cas was too dumbstruck by these words. He was dumbstruck about the fact that people follow a book that said things like this, that people claimed to be good and righteous and that whole ‘love your neighbour’-bullshit, and then wave this book in the air.   
In the name of religious freedom. 

“What would I do with the Kingdom of God anyway?” Cas finally said. “They can keep it. I would rather hang out with the sexually immoral and male prostitutes and homosexuals than inherit that Kingdom.”   
Now he caught Dean’s attention, because he turned his head to look at him so quick Cas was afraid his neck might snap.   
“What do you mean?”   
“I mean, I always thought God was utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. Sort of like our Church teaches us to be.”   
And Dean smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of a car pulling up outside the church, and unto the gravel pathway, shook them out of the trance they had found themselves in. Cas was the first one to react.   
“Shit, I think someone is coming!” In one brisk movement he stood up, Psalm book still in his hands. Dean just looked puzzled.  
“So what? It’s a public space Cas.”   
“Yeah, but maybe it’s someone who’ve seen me at father's church. Maybe they’ll tell him about this. The church is just on the other side of the street,Dean!“ Frantic, and panic rising in his stomach, he searched around the large room to see where he could hide.   
Still a bit too calm for Cas taste, Dean stood up beside him.  
“The confessional.”   
“Are you fucking kidding me, Dean?”  
“Now is not the time to question your morals!” And just like before, Dean grabbed Cas, and Cas was unable to do anything but follow him into the tight little space that was the confessional. 

Dean was the first one in, and he tried to stand as close as he could to the wall , but the seat was in the way. he could sit down, but his legs were too broad and long to make room for Cas in that case, so he decided to stand up.   
Then came Cas.  
He shut the door softly, so not to make a sound, and immediately placed an ear against it , so he could hear what was going on outside.  
Maybe Dean should have chosen a better hiding spot, because there was not a lot of room to move around in. And Cas back was pressed right up against him, and Dean had no idea what to do with his hands. He just leaned back as far as he could where it still was room above the seat. It must have looked incredibly silly. 

The heavy church doors swung open, and Cas could hear muffled voices outside.  
“Cas!” Dean whispered behind him.  
“Not now, Dean!”  
“Cas!”  
“For fuck sake Dean!” He wriggled around to face Dean so that he could maybe smack him or something, because what the heck was he thinking. What he came face to face with was a deep set of constellations formed by tiny freckles, spread out over slightly tanned cheeks, and green deep eyes.   
It could not have been more than 10 centimeter between them, and that was just the faces. The rest of them were duly smushed together, legs , arms, chest and.. Well, everything.   
Dean swallowed loudly, he was just as caught of guard as Cas by this sudden closeness.  
“My-my jacket.” He finally managed to get out.  
“Fuck your jacket, they probably won’t see it.” 

Dean grunted unhappily, and the breath of hot air hit Cas right in the face. When Dean realized this he shrugged apologetically. Or it was more a slight twitch in his shoulders than a full shrug, because there was no space to shrug, unless he wanted to risk grinding up on Cas in the process.   
They could hear maybe two or three people outside, talking lightly and just walking around. Tourist, just like them. Well, maybe tourist would be the wrong word for them.  
“Do you still have the Psalm book?” Dean suddenly asked, and Cas looked down in his right hand. He was indeed still holding the book. Then he thought of something.  
“Sit down.” Cas said, or more ordered Dean. Dean obliged happily enough, and tried to be as smooth about it as he could, spreading his legs as wide as he could so that Cas could stand between them.   
That worked all very well, except now Dean was in tummy height with Cas.   
“What are you going to do?” Dean asked in a hushed murmur.   
“I’m going to prove that God exists.” 

Cas opened the book on a random page, and closed his eyes. Going entirely on feeling , he placed a finger randomly on one of the pages.  
The light was dim, and it was hard to read, but it was doable. With the finger still in place, he turned the book around to Dean.  
“Read it.”  
“Are you serious?”  
Cas nodded, and Dean sighed. Leaning forward closer to the page, he could smell the detergent on Cas clothes, but also a hint of honey for some reason. Sweet and thick, and not entirely unpleasant.   
“Read it out loud, Dean.”   
“‘And there appeared to him an angel from heaven.’”It was barely audible, more like hitched breaths with tiny fragments with words in them, but Cas heard. 

Cas groaned, and closed the Psalm book.   
“Well that did not go as expected.” He placed the book beside Dean on the seat, a clear look of disappointment on his face.   
Dean, on the other hand, could not have wished for better passage. Sure, it did not prove God for any of them, and their hushed whispers might get them in trouble, but he had to rethink something.  
“Cas.” Dean said, his voice tender.   
“What, Dean?”   
“Remember Ms Abbadon’s question for me earlier?” Dean looked straight up into Cas’s eyes, and even in the darkness they glimmered and almost lit up the tiny room. Like they were filled with liquid blue light, floating around, being the origin for all light he could see. Cas just looked confused. And his expression said something like ‘Really? You wanna discuss this right now?’. Dean disregarded that.   
“If I believed in angels. That was her question. And maybe God does not exist, and I can live with that. But…” His words trailed off, but now he had Cas full attention. Neither of them even registered the people talking outside. Dean recalled , only moments before, seeing Cas spread his wings out, majestic, black and so life-like. He swore he remember them even moving, feathers rustling in the wind. Nothing about his memory even resembled them being simply a painting.  
“I think I believe in angels.” 

The words came out with such ease it surprised even Dean himself. He had been told, over and over again, that only idiots and brainwashed fanatics believed in Angels, and God, and maybe that was true, and maybe God is a middle aged guy in a bathrobe and dirty underwear and an unkempt beard. Dean could not care less at this point.  
“Angels?” Cas asked, head tilted in that same way he had when standing in front of the wings. Dean needed to stand up, and he did not care the he trapped Cas between his thighs doing so, or how close they became. Dean was not moving, even when the tips of their noses were touching slightly. 

Cas’s breathing was shallow, his mouth slightly open, his chest moving faster and faster as his heartbeat sped up. Dean being this close was not good for his health, at all.  
“You can’t tell me that angels don’t exist, when a guy, named Castiel of all things, are standing in front of me, in a confessional.” He started to slowly lift his hand up, and even though Dean was obviously shaking, and his smile was nervous, Cas did not want him to stop. So when Dean placed his hand on Cas cheek, softly caressing it, it felt like he was on fire. He could scarcely hear anything except the thumping off his own heart, and Dean’s fingers burned against his skin. For a moment, they were alone in the universe, even though the universe right now was the cramped space of a confession booth. Maybe that was all they needed.

Dean took a deep breath.  
“So when a guy named after an angel randomly gives you a passage, and it is about angels appearing,” Dean bit gently down on his own lip, and Cas saw how his focus shifted from the center of his face, to his lips, and then stayed there. “I think that is reason enough to believe in them, don’t you?” Dean’s smile was enchanting and devilish and simply the most mischievous thing Cas had ever seen, but when a finger traced softly along his upper lip, he felt as if he would simply fall to his knees. All that was holding him up at this point was the fact that Dean had him in some sort of clasp between his thighs. 

“Maybe they aren’t fierce warriors” Dean leaned in closer, and their lips were just touching now. “Maybe they aren’t heaven’s most terrifying weapon.”   
Cas felt a hand on the small of his back pushing him forward, and it took a second to register that it was Dean urging him to come closer, which was almost impossible.  
“Maybe they are blue eyed dorks.” Their lips finally met in a gentle kiss.

It was innocent at first, just a long kiss that was shared between them. But somewhere along the way the kiss changed.  
Cas did not know when his arms found their way around Dean’s neck. They just did. His hands found their way to the back of his head, gently pulling at short but soft hair, caressing Dean’s shoulders feeling the muscle move as Dean let his hands wander up and down Cas’s sides, finding their way under his shirt, fingers hot against his ribs, his skin. Every touch was a jolt of electricity that he wanted again and again. 

Cas tasted like he smelled - like honey, but also like that strong coffee they had both had before. All Dean knew was that this was heavenly. And Cas as close as he could be to him, his body responding to everything he did, whether it was with his hands, or his tongue, was just the biggest turn on. Cas was just incredibly responsive to all he did. And as hard as he tried to be silent, a few involuntary moans were let out, and he felt Cas smile against his lips as he did.  
“Shut up.” Dean stopped the make out session to whisper.  
“You are the one being noisy!”   
Dean chuckled, but it came out in huffed breaths. Cas hands still around his neck, his own placed firmly around Cas’s hips, he leaned in to rest his forehead against Cas’s.   
They were both smiling like fools, and breathing like they had just run a marathon.   
“Looks like neither of us will inherit any Kingdom.” Dean said, eyes closed, foreheads still touching.


End file.
